


Fight Scene

by MathConcepts



Series: Love in Rocky Halls [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brother/Brother Incest, Fight Sex, Finrod joins in, Finrod watches, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring, Threesome - M/M/M, Wrestling, You know the drill one moment they're fighting, sparring sex, the next moment sexing each other up, threesome sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: Curufin and Celegorm go from flirting, to wrestling, to something else entirely, and Finrod is left to wonder why he has not run away screaming by now.PWP, but I made it really pretty.





	Fight Scene

Metal slid across metal, eliciting a cacophony of grinding metallic sounds, a muted screech that drifted away from their source, borne on a subterranean breeze from the chamber they hailed from, into the outlying hall.

   
Curufin rounded a corner in the hall, clutching a tray with precisely measured firmness, the crafting tools laid in perfect order upon it not moving even the fraction of an inch, so balanced was his gait. His ears perked at the soft screech of metal which emanated from the chamber situated mere paces away from his forge, a chamber that belonged to Celegorm, that held Celegorm's favored hunting weapons.  
  
  
Curufin had warned, threatened, and outright _forbade_ Celegorm to install the chamber within in a mile of his forge, (but when had Celegorm ever listened?) but Celegorm had had the chamber hewn out and furnished, claiming that it was more practical to store his weapons near a place containing a whetstone, such as the one Curufin's forges contained, but Curufin knew that was no more than an empty excuse.    
  
  
Celegorn was indeed fond of the proximity of Curufin's forge, but not because of the tools, but rather because the forge was isolated, soundproofed by virtue of its thick stone walls, and usually throughout most days, held Curufin inside it.   

 

 

Sighing, Curufin entered his forge, placing the tray of tools neatly on a workbench near the entrance, then backed out, turning on his heel and walking the few short steps to Celegorm's chamber.  
  
  
Coming to the door, and finding it ajar, Curufin halted, remaining in the shadow thrown by the arch of the doorway, his eyes peering through the slim space between the heavily polished wood door and the stone doorframe, coming to rest on Celegorm, who sat sprawled in a sturdy chair in the middle of the room, one foot planted firmly on the glorious fur rug that adorned the floor, the other propped on his knee.

In his lap rested a naked sword, one hand grasped its hilt, the other scraped a bit of metal over the flat of the blade, clearly sharpening it.  
  
  
Curufin _tsked_ , not in any way impressed with the grandiose spectacle his brother was presenting, and least impressed with the careless scrape of metal across metal.  
  
  
Curufin's boot connected with the lower half of the door, and the door gave way upon its hinges, allowing Curufin access into the room.  
  
  
  
"You technique is terrible, Tyelko." Curufin hissed, striding over to his brother. "That is no fit way to sharpen a sword, you will only succeed in scraping off half your blade." Celegorm grinned insolently, lifting the sword from his lap, and letting it drop to the floor, where it was muffled by the fur rug. The metal whetstone Celegorm flung over his shoulder, where it tinkled against the stone floor upon impact.

 

"It is a blade of your making. Should it not hold against ill technique? Unless ill technique itself forged it." Celegorm retorted.

 

" _Bitch_." Curufin hissed, turning on his heel, intending to leave for the sanctity of his forge, where no older brothers occupied any place. 

 

Celegorm's arm snaked out, muscled and sinewy, and calloused fingers seized the apron cords that were knotted at the base of Curufin's back, yanking Curufin back and down, onto the shallow dip of Celegorm's lap. 

 

Celegorm's warm breath stirred escaped wisps of Curufin's hair, as Celegorm eased his head against the crook of Curufin's neck, lips pressing against Curufin's ear.

"You consider yourself to be so knowledgeable in the art of sharpening swords, then sharpen mine, Curvo." Celegorm drawled softly, his wide hand spreading and pressing atop Curufin's thigh, sliding suggestively over the roughly woven fabric of Curufin's forge trousers, the heat in his palm sinking through the thickly woven fibers, to tingle on Curufin's skin.  

   
Curufin made a dismissive  noise in back of his throat.

"Sharpen your own."

"That won't do at all." Celegorm responded, fingers suddenly clenching around Curufin's thigh. "I'm sparring today with one of Ingnoldo's little weeds, I require my weapons to be in perfect condition."  
  
  
"I am busy, I have not time for your games." Curufin declined.

 

"How uncharitable of you, brother," Celegorm breathed into Curufin's ear. "Without my sword, I cannot spar."

"Then do not spar. Wrestle instead."

 

Celegorm's intake of breath resonated with newly born excitement.

"A wonderful Idea, Curvo, will you then oil me for the wrestling?"

"No." Curufin said shortly, rising from Celegorm's lap and shaking off Celegorm's clutching hands. Celegorm caught at the hem of Curufin's tunic as Curufin made to move away, and reeled Curufin in, between his legs with a pull of his wrist.

"I'll do the oiling then." Celegorm offered. "But, come wrestle with me, Curvo, you've been working entirely too hard, you should partake in something to ease you."

Curufin's lips compressed, silver eyes narrowing. Then, his hands went behind his torso, fingers swiftly unknotting the cords that held his apron against his chest, then lifting its halter strap from about his neck, revealing the thin, sweat soaked tunic that draped over his torso.

  
Celegorm drank in the sight hungrily, and rose from his seat, taking a firm grasp of Curufin's wrist and leaving the chamber.

 

* * *

   
  
Celegorm spread a liberal amount of oil across his shoulders and chest, strong fingers working it deftly into his skin, clad now in only his trousers. Curufin sat on the stone border encircling the sparring rink, still clothed, tunic fastened up to his throat, though he had removed his boots.

 Celegorm set the half filled vial of oil down beside Curufin, but Curufin waved it away, getting to his feet, moving to the center of the rink. Celegorm copied his actions, and they stood for a moment, staring at each other.

Then they collided, grappling, grabbing,  Curufin's finger sliding over his brother's oiled skin, Celegorm's legs twining around his, hooking his feet from under him. They fell, rolled apart, and then re-collided, Celegorm grinning, teeth bared in a fierce smile. 

Curufin's breath came short, but his face was taut in concentration, one arm wrapping around Celegorm's neck, the other gripping his bicep as they rolled over the stone floor together.

From the shadows thrown by a massive weapons rack, Finrod watched his cousins with sharp eyes. Neither had seen him when they entered the chamber, and Finrod preferred to keep it that way, for he was enjoying the spectacle they were making, though Finrod could not say for sure _what_ he was enjoying.

 

No, Finrod knew exactly what he was enjoying, though he was loath to admit it even to himself. It was the gleam of light on Celegorm's oiled skin, Curufin's pants for breath, Celegorm's reckless grin, and the way Curufin's arms and legs snaked around Celegorm as they grappled together, that compelled him so, and fanned heat in his belly. 

 

Finrod knew he should leave, he knew he should not allow the budding flame in his belly to grow, but then, Celegorm and Curufin were on their feet again, and Curufin launched himself at his brother, his weight and momentum shoving Celegorm back against the wall, his hands gripping Celegorm's wrists, pinning them to the wall.

  
Finrod stared with wide eyes, a small smirk growing on his face, and he knew he would not leave.  

The next moment, Celegorm had thrust his knee hard into Curufin's midriff, sending Curufin sprawling on the floor upon his back, and Celegorm was on him the next moment, settling the weight of his body on Curufin's waist, pinning _Curufin's_ hands down against the stone floor.  
  
Finrod pressed a finger along the side of his head, smirk widening, eyes bright in interest.

Curufin's raised his legs, clamping them about Celegorm's waist, then heaved, his torso twisting, and then Celegorm was beneath Curufin, Curufin sitting astride his brother, their positions reversed.

A small dirk materialized in Curufin's hand, the tip of the blade finding a place beneath Celegorm's chin, prodding Celegorm's face up, baring his throat.  

 

"I win." Curufin said simply.

Unbothered in the least by the knife at his throat, Celegorm rested his hands, on Curufin's thighs, sliding them upwards til they disappeared beneath Curufin's now untucked shirt, roving over the skin underneath.

  
"It is not a fair victory, you brought a knife." Celegorm pointed out.

"It it a victory, because I am the one with the knife." Curufin responded. "Besides, when have you ever cared for fairness?"

"Never." Celegorm said huskily, raising his head. Curufin bent over, across Celegorm's body, meeting his lips halfway.  They kissed unhurriedly, Curufin's dirk still pressed to Celegorm's throat,  Celegorm's tonuge lapping into his mouth.

   
  
Then Celegorm's hips rocked upward, and a low moan seeped from between the union of Celegorm and Curufin's lips, and Finrod knew it was time to take his leave.

He slipped from the shadows of the rack, hoping his cousins were too involved in each other to notice him. But, Finrod had never possessed much luck in situations such as these.  
  
  
"Ingnoldo, where are you going?" came Curufin's clear, cold voice. Finrod froze, caught as a deer in the light of a lantern just as he reached the door. Curufin had broken off the kiss, and was now staring at Finrod, silver eyes narrowed into beams.

 

Finrod did not answer, for what could he say?  

"Findarato." and that was Celegorm's voice, husky and amused, "There is a vial of oil there on the barrier, be so obliging as to bring it to me."

 

Finrod knew he _should not_ , yet he did, moving forward, claiming the glass vial from its spot on the stone fence, then slipping over the fence in a graceful move, and approaching his cousins, crouching down and slotting the vial into Celegorm's waiting hand.

 

Celegorm offered no words of thanks, instead prying the cork of the vial from its glass surroundings with a defining pop. The dirk had disappeared from Curufin's hand, and Curufin eased himself up upon Celegorm's body, knees and hands now holding him up over Celegorm's head. Celegorm lifted his head, pressing his lips against Curufin's groin, his tonuge dragging over the tenting fabric, deliberately moistening it with saliva, and Finrod knew he _really, really_ should go. 

But he didn't, instead settling cross-legged mere inches from his cousins.

Curufin moaned low in his throat as Celegorm's lips traveled the front of his trousers, then Celegorm was raising his hand, pushing firmly against Curufin's chest, and Curufin toppled backward off his hands and knees, turning and coming to rest on his side.

 

With quick tugs, Celegorm loosened the laces of his trousers, then spilt the contents of the oil vial across his hand, dipping his hand between his legs and slicking his length, then propped himself up upon one elbow, plastering himself along Curufin's back.  
  
Curufin had been industrious in the few moments it had taken Celegorm to slick himself, having unlaced and eased his own trousers down. Celegorm's fingers, still wet with the dull sheen of the remaining oil, pressed against his entrance, sinking through it without delay.

Curufin's lips parted as Celegorm's fingers breached him, and his hand sought Finrod's thigh, coming to rest upon it.

 

"Part your legs." Curufin ordered, and Finrod did so immediately, his promptness in obeying bringing the color of shame high into his cheeks. Curufin's fingers curled into Finrod's flesh as his legs parted, and pulled Finrod closer. Curufin pillowed his head on the softness of Finrod's thigh, his hand moving up and parting the folds of Finrod's robes, reaching his trousers and deftly pulling open the the laces, freeing Finrod's arousal. 

 

Celegorm's fingers left him at that moment, the thick head of Celegorm's cock breaching him seconds later, and Curufin muffled his unseemly cry by taking Finrod's arousal down his throat.

 

Finrod moaned wantonly as Curufin's mouth enveloped him, and Celegorm threw him a knowing look from beneath half lowered lids. 

The color on Finrod's cheeks deepened, but then Curufin twisted his tonuge _just so_ , and shame was no longer a concern to Finrod, just as long as Curufin _did not stop_.

Celegorm's arm went about Curufin's waist, clamping Curufin to his chest as he rocked his hips, burying his length deeply within his brother, before easing back, then driving his cock again within Curufin.

Curufin canted his hips back, meeting each of Celegorm's thrusts into his pliant hole, channel clenching about his brother's cock each time he was filled, his lips still working skillfully around Finrod's arousal.    
  
  
Celegorm groaned, hand settling on Curufin's hip, nails grooving into it.   
  
  
"Beautiful, Curvo, beautiful, you feel, so good, _so tight_." Celegorm assured his brother, tonuge laving over the tip of Curufin's ear.  

 

It was these words, aided by the skim of Curufin's tonuge along the underside of his cock that sent Finrod hurtling to meet his climax.

Curufin withdrew at the last moments, warned by the tensing of Finrod's body, and Finrod spilled upon his own robes, not a drop contacting Curufin's lips. This disappointed Finrod, but he was too spent to care.

Curufin's hand left Finrod's thigh, and traveled down to his own arousal, fingers encircling his straining cock, but his hand was snatched away by Celegorm.

 

"No, no, Curvo." Celegorm reprimanded, as he drove his hips against Curufin in a punishing thrust. Curufin threw his head back, his brother's name issuing in a gasp from his lips, seed spurting from his cock as his climax was reached, pooling thick and sticky on the floor.

 

Celegorm lay rough kisses along the side of Curufin's throat, his harsh thrust repeated once, twice, thrice, then he groaned out Curufin's name onto the fabric stretched over Curufin's shoulder, his seed leaking out into the tight confines of his brother's hole.   
  
  
Curufin breathed raggedly, letting his head droop upon the coolness of the stone floor. Celegorm placed a final kiss upon the nape of Curufin's neck, then slowly withdrew from him, locking his eyes with Finrod's as he did, though just having had Curufin's mouth about him, Finrod was unabashed by his cousin's gaze.

  
"Do all your sparring sessions end in this manner?" Finrod inquired. 

   
Celegorm shrugged, a languid gesture of someone well sated, and Finrod did not question him further, instead lowering his suddenly heavy body to lay upon the stone floor. 

It did not matter so very much.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is the key to my heart.


End file.
